


Promises

by Grundy



Series: First Age [24]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Third Kinslaying aftermath, post Sirion, raising peredhil, sins of their past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 09:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13210779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: Maedhros tells the story of the Oath. The twins are horrified.





	Promises

Makalaurë was surprised when Elros said that the twins wanted to continue the lesson.

He was certain that Elrond was getting more upset by the minute – the younger twin has always been the more sensitive of the pair. Hearing the entirety of the Flight of the Noldor might be too much for him, which is why Makalaurë had decided to remain for the lesson. If necessary, he will remove Elrond and take him to sit with Glinwen, or play with his puppy, or sing as many songs as it takes to restore him to a calmer frame of mind.

Both boys had started out in their usual places, meaning separate desks, because much as with Ambarussa, sharing a single table meant far too much mischief for any tutor to make headway. They have also been drilled that they are expected to be attentive and not conduct _osanwë_ conversations during lessons.

Both expectations have gone out the window this morning, with Elrond gradually sliding closer and closer to his brother until their chairs are touching. The boys were now sitting shoulder to shoulder and hand in hand, and they have most certainly been speaking silently to each other.

But Maedhros hasn’t said a word about it, and Makalaurë can’t help but feel it’s helping more than it’s hurting today, so he hadn’t intervened either despite his growing misgivings about this ‘lesson’.

“Very well,” Maedhros said. “The Trees had been destroyed, though we did not yet know it. Grandfather had been killed, and that I knew almost at once, for I could both see and hear what happened.”

Maedhros abruptly found himself holding an armful of twins.

“There, there,” he said, plainly rattled. “Are you sure you are not too upset to hear the rest?”

A muffled comment from his chest that might have come from either one of the boys indicated that they were not _upset_ , they were _sorry_ for him.

Makalaurë watched his brother blink back tears. Very few had ever been so openly sympathetic to him – not that he usually admitted to having seen Grandfather murdered. He rarely spoke of it, for the day was horrible enough in the memories of all Noldor, not to mention their family, that it was not often discussed.

Maedhros gently returned the twins to their seats, and moved Elros’ desk aside to pull his own chair to face the boys directly, abandoning any pretense that this was a normal lesson.

“It was very upsetting, and you are both kind to be concerned for me,” Maedhros said softly. “But you must also remember that Grandfather was dearly loved by all of us, and we were all distraught at his death.”

Makalaurë shot his brother a half-hearted glare as he came in for his own round of hugs and childish sympathy, along with feather-light touches of the fëa that conveyed more than words ever could how very much the boys loved him.

As they settled back into their chairs, he wondered if they would still feel the same by the end of the tale his brother had agreed to tell today.

“I know you two do not much like Uncle Fëanaro,” Maedhros began anew, “but whatever his other faults, he loved his father dearly, and was stricken to the point of madness by grief for him.”

Elrond chewed nervously at his lip.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

_Madness_ was not a concept the twins had encountered before. Loss was familiar, along with death, injury, fear, anger, and grief. But they have never seen madness, and Makalaurë fervently prayed they never would.

“Madness is a sickness of the mind,” Maedhros explained. “It means a person no longer perceives things as most people do, and may see things that are not there, or miss things that are. They no longer hear the Music normally, but shifted, as though being played entirely different. Because of this, they may say or do things they would not otherwise do, and act as though they no longer know right from wrong.”

There was a moment’s silence as the boys processed that notion.

“But Maedhros,” Elrond said in a troubled voice, “if that is madness, was Uncle Fëanaro not already somewhat mad? He did not see that Queen Indis loved him and was not trying to displace his mother Míriel in his father’s heart or his own. He held a sword to his brother Nolofinwë.”

Makalaurë looked at his older brother.

_Out of the mouths of babes,_ he said quietly. _Perhaps he was, and none of us ever realized it._

_How would we? If the boy is right, none of us ever knew him in his right mind_ , Maedhros replied, sounding every bit as disturbed as Elrond. _His mother died when he was younger than they are._

“You may be right, Elrond,” Maedhros answered aloud. “But no one saw that at the time. If they had, perhaps his mind might have been healed and all would have been different.”

“If it had been, there would be no us,” Elros pointed out practically. “Prince Nolofinwë would never have come to Beleriand, and Princess Itarillë would never have met Tuor. That means our father would not have been begotten, so neither would we. Nana would have married someone from Doriath, and had different children.”

“They do say Eru promised Morgoth that he would turn any marring of the Music to unlooked for good,” Makalaurë said reassuringly. “You are certainly part of that unlooked for good.”

That drew a grin from Elros and a somewhat more tentative smile from Elrond, who looked to still be turning the notion of Fëanaro’s madness over in his head with some concern.

“I think it is probably better for you to call Itarillë ‘grandmother’ than ‘Princess’,” Maedhros added. “I am sure she would prefer it.”

Elros shrugged, not much bothered either way. Makalaurë doubted he saw any point to fussing over what to call someone he had never met.

“So Uncle Fëanaro went mad. What did he do?” Elros replied, eager to get back to the main story.

“First, he brought his father’s body back to Tirion, where a funeral was held,” Madhros said. “I do not know what the Sindar do with their dead, but Aunt Findis discovered that according to those who completed the Journey that the Noldor used to burn their dead, so that is what we did.”

“That doesn’t sound very nice,” Elros said dubiously. “I wouldn’t want to be burned.”

“You’re dead when they do it, so it doesn’t matter,” Elrond pointed out. “His fëa wasn’t there to burn, it was in the Halls with Queen Míriel, right?”

Maedhros nodded.

“King Finwë was dead, so that meant my father was now King Fëanaro. After Grandfather’s funeral, he summoned all the Noldor to the summit of Tuna, before the House of the King, where the people usually assembled when the King had something to say that all should hear. There he spoke to the people, saying that we should no longer remain in Valinor, under the rule of the Valar, but pursue Morgoth to Beleriand, our original home, to avenge King Finwë and rid the world of the evil of Morgoth and regain the jewels with the unsullied Light.”

The twins were as skeptical of this as any Sinda Makalaurë has ever met.

“This was the madness, right?” Elros asked, glancing sideways at his brother. “It is not so easy to defeat the Enemy. If it was, the Iathrim would not have needed to keep to Doriath. They’d have taken care of it and all of Beleriand would have been safe and free long before the Noldor showed up.”

“Madness is mind-sickness,” Elrond repeated quietly. “He did not realize what a task he set himself and his people. And he knew nothing of the elves of Beleriand.”

“It was madness indeed,” Maedhros said heavily. “And the Valar were angry, for not only did he attribute evil to them, Fëanaro’s banishment had not yet been lifted, so he was breaking his punishment.”

“More trouble,” said Elros sagely. “That means more punishment.”

“Yet that was not the worst of it,” Makalaurë interjected warningly.

Both boys looked disturbed.

“Worse than saying he was going to fight the Enemy?” Elros asked nervously.

“Much worse,” Maedhros replied. “For Father swore a terrible Oath, and in our foolishness, my brothers and I swore the same.”

“But you always tell us not to even make promises!” Elrond protest suddenly, sounding very nearly panicked. “You told us the only promise you would ever require from us was that we should not do anything that did not seem right to us, and that we should make no oath or vow!”

“I told you that for very good reason, little one,” Maedhros said sadly. “Listen carefully to the words we swore, that you will remember them and have some understanding of all that happened after:

_Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean, brood of Morgoth or bright Vala,_  
_Elda or Maia or Aftercomer, Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth,_  
 _neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger, not Doom itself,_  
 _shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin,_  
 _whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth_  
 _a Silmaril. This swear we all: death we will deal him ere Day's ending, woe unto world's end!_  
 _Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth._  
 _On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!_ ”

His brother might not be a singer, but he chanted the words nearly as if they were a song, the rhythm somehow making them all the more terrible.

“Eru?” Elrond whispered, thunderstruck. “But we’re not supposed to use the name of the One. It’s too special to be used carelessly. You said so!”

The younger twin’s reaction was overshadowed by Elros’ outburst.

“The Everlasting Darkness?” Elros shrieked. “ _The Everlasting Darkness?”_

Makalaurë took one look at Elrond and decided that was quite enough. Honesty was one thing, but telling young children more than they could bear was quite another.

He scooped up the little boy and headed for the door. He could feel Elrond trembling in his arms like a leaf in a storm.

_What are you doing, Kano?_ his brother demanded.

_Preventing an Ambarussa incident!_ Makalaurë snapped furiously.

Maybe Maedhros had forgotten, but he hadn’t. Their youngest brothers could feed off the other’s emotions, getting progressively more upset to a point that they would be unable to calm themselves. As children, if they weren’t helped in time, they could escalate to a state of hysteria that would only end when the twins were exhausted, driving all around them to distraction. It hadn’t happened very often, but the few times it had, it had been extraordinarily stressful on not only Ambarussa, but their older brothers and cousins as well.

Makalaurë had no wish to recall the last, fatal instance…

He strode from the schoolroom quickly, holding Elrond as tightly as he dared, wrapping the boy in warmth and reassurance – for what it was worth at such a moment, when the little one had just been told that the cousins taking care of him were damned to the Darkness at their own word.

He nearly plowed into a startled Varilon, who had no doubt been coming to check how the morning’s lesson was progressing, and whether or not he would be wanted after the midday meal.

“Bring Prince Elrond’s dog to his room, at once,” Makalaurë commanded, not stopping to see what the boys’ tutor thought of such an order.

He did not so much as slow his pace until they were safely in the twins’ suite. He unceremoniously hauled the blanket off the bed, grabbing Lalaith the otter in the process. He sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, and wrapped Elrond snugly, letting him hold the stuffed animal close, and began to rock him.

Elrond was weeping, huge tears rolling down his face.

“Oh, pitya,” Makalaurë sighed. “I am sorry. We should have told you sooner.”

_Then perhaps you would not be so hurt by this. You would not have grown to love us as the trusted kin we should have been if we had been honest about the monsters we are._

“Why?” was the first word Elrond managed to get out between sobs. “Why would you promise something so horrible?”

“It was a mistake, pitya, a terrible, terrible mistake, one we would take back if we could.”

Elrond drew a shaky breath, and managed to speak.

“But you could if you wanted to! You told us we can always apologize and make things right when we know we have done wrong. You could apologize, and tell Manwë and Varda you are sorry and ask forgiveness.”

“There was more to the story, my little love,” Makalaurë replied sadly. “My father wished to have the boats of the Teleri of Alqualondë. When they would not give them to him, he tried to steal them, and it came to the first Kinslaying. We were all involved in that. And for that, the Valar added to our Oath this Doom – that they would hear us not, and our Oath would never be fulfilled. And there have been two more Kinslayings since. With so much elven blood on our heads, even if the Valar would hear us, I do not think there can be any forgiveness, no matter how sorry we are.”

He would leave the exact words of the Doom for another day. Elrond was upset enough as it was.

Elrond was silent, tears still running down his face, and then something happened that disturbed Makalaurë more than all the rest put together – his eyes took on that curious faraway look that used to accompany Artanis’ earliest experiences of Seeing.

_No, please, lords of the West. Please say the poor child hasn’t inherited foresight._

Makalaurë shivered, for he had believed that dangerous, double-edged gift had passed down Arafinwë’s line, not Nolofinwë’s.

“ _Promise_ you will never go away like your brothers?” Elrond asked, his voice eerie. “Please?”

“I can’t-” Makalaurë protested. It didn’t matter what the boy thought he was seeing- he will _not_ lie to him. “The Oath will not allow me to keep any lesser promises.”

“You can keep a promise to _me_ ,” Elrond replied, his eyes overly bright. “If you will only give it.”

Makalaurë felt so wretched in that moment that he was unable to hold firm.

“Very well, Elrond, I promise you I will not go away like my brothers. In return, I ask that you will make no foolish vows or oaths, and reserve the name of the One for its proper use only.”

“Done,” Elrond replied, his voice still not his own.

The boy suddenly went limp, and Makalaurë found himself wondering what under the stars had just happened.

That was when the door burst open and a worried Varilon herded not one but two excited dogs into the room.

“They would both come,” Varilon said apologetically. “I couldn’t get Prince Elros’ pup to stay behind no matter what I said.”

“It is no trouble. They can both stay here,” Makalaurë replied, giving the little whistle the animals had been trained to respond to. He was sure that sooner or later there would be another upset little boy in the room who would also feel better with his dog at his side. “Thank you, Varilon.”

The two dogs planted themselves firmly in front of him, and the one that was Elrond’s laid his head on the boy’s lap.

“Good boy, Tantar,” Elrond sniffled. “Stay.”

Makalaurë heard the unconscious power in the word, and knew it hadn’t applied only to the dog. Fortunately, he hadn’t intended to go anywhere any time soon.


End file.
